


It's For You

by nilolay



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Cars are Sentimental, David's Big Heart, Episode: s04e07 The Barbecue, Eventual Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Sympathetic Rachel, The Mysterious Postal Service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilolay/pseuds/nilolay
Summary: Patrick doesn't go to the barbecue. David and Rachel discover their connection in his absence.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 333
Kudos: 450





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DelphinaBoswell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphinaBoswell/gifts).



> This was originally posted as part of my mini prompt-fill collection, but it has gotten out of hand and will be expanded soon, so here it is on its own.
> 
> Based on a killer of a prompt by DelphinaBoswell, just as I thought I was going to bed, like a fool.

**Patrick:  
How’s the family thing at the motel?**  
  
**David:**  
**It’s fine. Dad and Stevie got into some kind of stand-off at the grill and none of the burgers were rescued at medium rare, so it could be better.**

**Patrick:**  
**Stevie’s there?**

**David:**  
**Yeah. I mean, it’s her motel, sooo**

**Patrick:**  
**Right. That’s a shame about your burger.**

**David:**  
**Thank you, I know. Also this was supposedly a celebration for me but Alexis brought a random sad girl.**  
  
Patrick frowned. _Huh, once again, who knew you had so many family members?_ Delete. _Oh, so randoms are invited but not your boyfriend?_ Delete delete delete. _Why were you being celebrated? Because of me?_ Wow, delete.

**Patrick:**  
**Aww.**

**David:**  
**I guess this day is still worse for her than for us.**

_At least she’s not all alone, like some people._ Delete. Patrick has never been great at texting but he knew from experience that passive aggression through text usually only led to a blow-up phone-call, so he’d been avoiding text conversation altogether, lately. But he’d take any communication with David he could get. It was just a matter of curbing the impulse when something was bothering him. He tried again.

**Patrick:**  
**Poor thing.**

**David:**  
**She’s cute. Some guy’s been dicking her around. Her energy is ruining our thing but I do feel bad for her.**

**Patrick:**  
**Because she’s cute?**  
  
**David:**  
**Yes. Cute people shouldn’t feel bad feelings.**  
  
Patrick didn’t even type out _like not getting invited to things,_ so that was progress. He took a breath. He was annoyed. He should put down the phone and do something else to cool off. He didn’t want a fight. They hadn’t fought yet. He didn’t know how that would go and he didn’t want to find out. But he couldn’t keep this conversation up much longer, this trying to keep it cool. He would put down his-

**David:**  
**Sorry, I’m being told off for “Forsaking the bygone days of social niceties”. Talk to you soon xx**

**Patrick:**  
**x**

He put down his phone. So, the family thing was some sort of barbecue, which Stevie was at, and which was open to random plus-ones. But not to Patrick.

He picked up his phone.

He put down his phone. Heavily. It bounced a bit.

He picked up his phone.

He stared at his open message thread and tried very hard not to type anything. He hit ‘back’. He stared at his list of unread threads. His mom, some advertising spam, Rachel. Well, it’s a distraction. He opened his thread with Rachel. He read the messages from the past few days.

Fuck.

Oh, _fuck._

_Oh, FUCK._

Heart rate skyrocketing, breath abandoning lungs, his shaking hands fumbled to call David. 

…

David put down his phone and trained his attention back to the conversation at the table. Alexis was pouting at the stranger, hand lightly resting on her wrist in what David recognised as an attempt at comfort. Alexis was nice. Niceness was a thing Alexis did, now. Alexis was being nice and David shouldn’t be annoyed. And he should be nice, too, probably.

“So um, where are you from?” That was a conversation thing that people said.

She gave a town name, with a “You wouldn’t know it” caveat, which, presumptuous. He had heard of it before, he thought, maybe.  
  
“I know it.” He said.

“You do!” She smiled, surprised.

“We had a Rose Video there.” Johnny beamed, thrilled to have something to contribute.

“Oh my god, of course, you’re _those_ Roses. Wow.” The girl lightly hit her own forehead in realisation, which was charming.

“Are we, though?” Moira challenged, head tilted, clearly musing on the transience of identity.

“I used to love Rose Video. My boyfriend worked there.” That was apparently a sad memory, because she was smiling sadly.

Johnny hummed. “No kidding! Let me think- branch…785. Impressive late fees! Your boyfriend must have been diligent. Good choice.”

She cringed at that. “Yeah, diligent, that was him. Or, still is. _Was_ my boyfriend. _Is_ my fiancé.”

“Wow, same guy? That’s a long relationship.” David remarked, nicely.

“Actually, David, lots of people have lots of relationships longer than four months.” Alexis supplied, with the air of niceness but not the spirit.

The precise angle at which David raised his wine glass told Alexis to fuck off.

“Are you in a relationship?” The girl cleared her throat a bit, smiling at David. “What’s…he? What are they like?”

David smiled and raised his eyes a little, in search for the best way to describe Patrick, who he missed right now, and who should be sitting across from him, who would be touching his leg with his own leg and making David feel better about his moment being stolen, with bright and sympathetic eyes, who deserved David’s trust and who really made a very good move with that cookie, which David missed right now, which-

“He’s diligent,” Johnny supplied, proud of himself for the insensitive callback.

“Well, yes.” David conceded. “Also extremely cute, thoughtful, funny, and makes a very limited outlet-based wardrobe work for him _very_ well.”

“And quite the _artiste musicale_ , his Pat.” Moira beamed.

“Did you say Pat?” The girl asked, eyes narrowing a little, which, fair.

“We absolutely didn’t,” David shot an authoritative look at Moira, “Because his name is _Patrick_ ," it always felt like a small treat to say it, "and we’re _not_ doing Pat.”

It looked like the girl’s face was glazing over a bit. Poor thing, bereft of a fiancé and now made to hear the praises of someone else’s boyfriend.

“Sorry, we should stop-” David winced.

“No, no. It’s just, my fiancé is a Patrick.” She laughed a little. “He’s a musician too, and cute, and thoughtful, and everything. But I can’t imagine my Patrick being your type, you know, unless he’s changed a lot in the six months since he moved. Like, a _lot_ a lot.” She laughed harder, but darker, with a nervous question in it.

_“I’ve never done that before, with a guy.”_

_“You know what? We didn’t even get into your history-” “Lock it up, David.”_

But that’s- not-. David shook his head briskly and matched her laugh with his own.

“No. Patrick would have told me if he’d worked in a Rose Video.” Like that was the matter at hand, David.

David was staring at his blackened burger. Everybody else was staring at David, or at the space between David and the girl, this bombshell whose name he probably should have tried harder to catch.

“Maybe not, David. Maybe there’s a lot more to find out about each other…” Alexis, suspiciously.

“Like… a _lot_ more.” Stevie, darkly, eyes flashing.

That town name did sound familiar, and not because of Branch #785.

Moira’s hand was on his wrist.

“What’s his, um, surname? Just out of- just curious, interest, in- in names.” He tried laughing again, but it just came out a breathless, mirthless huff, begging for an impossible answer.

The girl didn’t seem as far down the path of inevitable destruction as David was. The idea that this was a case of mere coincidence and not a shocking betrayal seemed more likely to her. She mustn’t have been there before, like David has. Her tale of woe had been of a different kind- disappointment, not humiliation- until now. She wasn’t used to this moment. Poor thing.  
  
“Brewer.” She said.

And it made no difference to David, in that moment. She may as well have said it when she arrived. She may as well have said it when David took ticket B13.

Because of course. Of _course_ she said that name. Of _course_ this was happening. Of _course_ Patrick was engaged, was lying to him. Because this is how it _goes_. And David was so _stupid. Again. Again. Always._

Still, around him, it was cold shock that rippled between everyone else at the table, enough to alert the poor girl of the reality, and her response was shock, too.

Shock because they didn’t get it. They didn’t _get_ it. His family and Stevie had teased him and needled him that morning and he’d tried to explain but they _didn’t get it._

His phone rang. Patrick’s impish grin lit up the screen. Beaming. Teasing. Mocking. Taunting.

David slid the phone toward the girl.

“It’s for you,” he said flatly.

He stood and walked to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel takes the call.

Rachel felt like she was dreaming. This information had come out of nowhere and slammed into her like a truck, shattering everything. But on some level that she wouldn’t be able to access consciously until the dust cleared, it all made sense. The face smiling up at her from David’s phone was at once familiar and foreign. Something in the eyes she’d never seen before.

Her one desire in all these months has been to talk to Patrick. And there he was, on the other end of this phone, so she picked it up.

“David-” Patrick’s voice was pained, and Rachel’s faltered.

“…Um-” Was all she managed.

There was a confused silence.

“Rachel? Sorry, I must have- I was looking at your messages and I-” His voice became distant as though he was moving his phone away from his face to study the screen. When it returned, she could hear his furrowed brow. God, they knew each other so well.

“No, I called David.” His tone changed, urgent and deliberate. “Rachel, where’s David?”

“Oh, your boyfriend?” She could tell her voice was dripping with sarcasm, and there was a sharp laugh around the word ‘boyfriend’, and it was ugly, but she couldn’t help it.

She started to stand, and felt Moira’s hand reach out to sit her back down, until Alexis waved it away and gestured for her to go ahead and get some privacy. She headed back to her room.

“Can I talk to David, please.”

“I think you have to talk to me, actually, Patrick. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“Rachel, I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now-”

“You haven’t been able to do it ever, apparently, so I think it has to be right now. And then when we’re done you can talk to him, okay?”

“Please- where’s David? Is he okay? Has he- obviously you- he knows- ”

“Why didn’t he know before, Patrick? Was I like your dirty little secret? Why are you pretending to be something you’re not? Why would you lie about your life- this poor guy, he clearly loves you. Were you lying to _me_ this whole time? How long have you known, Patrick?”

The questions were pouring out of her- bitter and resentful, then earnest and pleading. It was just like all of their fights. But this was not like all their other fights. She was acting out of habit, clinging to what felt natural, a sick sort of comfortable. But they’d never had something like this to fight about before. This was new. This changed everything. Broke everything. Dissolved everything. Burned everything to the ground. This made their old tactics feel ridiculous and petty, minimising and futile. This begged for compassion and respect and calm.

This was a conversation for people who haven’t just had their hearts ripped out, but those weren’t the people who ever had to have it.

Still, Patrick seemed to be clinging to old habits, too. As ever, nothing was coming back in return to her questions. Until-

“Rachel, just…please give David his phone back. He really lo- He really likes it.” There was a soft tone.

And he was gone.

The photo on David’s home screen showed him with his arm around Patrick’s shoulders, Patrick’s arm around David’s waist. Patrick’s head was tilted down to David’s shoulder, and there was that foreign gleam in his eye again. She knew that man’s face like she’d drawn it herself. She’d studied it for years, traced it in sleep, searched it for answers when he wouldn’t use words- and found them, or thought she’d had. If it had ever looked like this, she’d have known. It was easy now to identify what it meant. What it said about how Patrick felt with David. How he’d _never_ felt with Rachel. And she didn’t need his words after all.

And he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick on the phone.

He couldn’t just hang up on Rachel, she had David’s phone, and he needed to talk to David. (It would also be rude.) She was his only tether in this moment, and that felt all at once bizarre and right.

But he couldn’t, he couldn’t talk to her, couldn’t give her answers. She deserved his care and attention for this conversation, and he’d never been less equipped to give it. His whole heart was in his throat and all it could do was ask her for David. Had there been any to spare it would have been used on hating himself before anything else.

“He clearly loves you.”

Everything went blank. Stark and white, yet soft.

She couldn’t possibly know that. David wouldn’t have shared something like that with a stranger.

But then, hey, it takes one to know one.

If anyone could recognise what it looks like to love Patrick Brewer, it’s Rachel.

He shouldn’t have hung up on her, but what’s another item on the pile of wrongs he has done to her? He’ll add it to the apology he’s been composing for months already.

_“He clearly loves you.”_

He had to get to David, had to explain and reassure and apologise and hell, beg. He tried another contact point. She answered immediately.

“Stevie—”

“Oh, done talking to your fiancée then?”

“We broke up _months_ ago, Stevie- did you think we were still- god does _David_ think I’m still—? Stevie, please believe I never meant to hide this from him— he, he didn’t want to talk about our pasts, I went along, and this shouldn’t have landed on him like this and, Jesus, if he thinks I’m still engaged, fuck, can you pass your phone to him, please?”

“Oh, you didn’t call because you wanna talk to me?”

“Stevie, I promise you, I can fix this, I have to fix this, I’m getting in my car and coming to the motel right now, please let me talk to David before he spirals too far.”

“Yeah, he started at a pretty dark place, who knows where he’s gotten to by now.”

He grabbed his keys and then stopped, elbows on the nearest flat surface, grasping his head in his hands. The keys dug into his temple like a punishment.

“God, I’ve fucked it all up, I’ve fucked it up, the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I— please, Stevie.”

“I’ve been knocking on his door this whole time, Patrick, what, did you think I was woodworking?”

He hadn’t registered any background noise, truth be told. Nor the high-pitched desperation in his voice. Nor the cold acidity in Stevie’s. But she was helping him. She was on David’s side, and if that, to her, meant she was doing what Patrick needed her to do, that was a good sign. That was hope. He regained himself and strode out to his car.

“I’m sliding you under the door.”

As he got into his car he heard muffled voices, clattering, and scuffing sounds. And then there he was, simultaneously with David while he was on his way to David.

“David?”

He put the phone on speaker as he drove. He couldn’t hear anything— he suspected the phone was still on the floor. All he could do was keep calling David’s name, which was fine, because all he wanted to do was call David’s name.

“David?”

He probably looked insane, driving fast and repeating those two syllables. At once a name, a promise, and a plea.

The sun was starting to set and he had the absurd thought that he wasn’t going to let it.

“David.”

Finally there were some soft sounds and then he could hear David’s breathing. It sounded eerily calm. He had expected panic. Was it arrogant of him to expect panic? Maybe Rachel was wrong. His chest seized.

“David, I’m sorry, I’m on my way. I know you didn’t invite me to this barbecue, but uh, I think I should be there anyway.”

God, why did he go for a joke? He started to correct himself, but then finally David replied. It was measured and dry, like his breathing.

“You shouldn’t be on your phone while you’re driving. You’re supposed to be responsible.”

And he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David, alone with his thoughts and feelings.

Well. This was a first. People had pretended to be all kinds of things to get to him, before. Pretended to be rich, pretended to be well-connected, to be older, or younger, or interested in his work. 

No one had tried pretending to be decent.

They didn’t think that’s what David wanted. David didn’t think that’s what he wanted.

Patrick must be a mastermind at this game, because David had fallen harder for his ruse than any of the others.

But those people in the past had wanted to take advantage of David for his money, his fame, connections. He had nothing now, so what was Patrick’s goal? To what end had he fixed this precision weapon on David, of all people?

Asking the question felt like standing in front of a delicate door before a deep crevasse. There was no immediately apparent answer, but if he decided to crack open the door and let himself start wondering, he’d fall into a boundless spiral of conspiracies and absurd hypothetical secrets- starting with something like “his family never actually lost their money” and ending god knows where, and nowhere good, if it would end at all.

So he didn’t risk even a tentative lean toward the door. Just accepted vague ‘malicious deception’ in all its comfortability, and tried not to turn his attention to the ‘why did the decency thing work so well?’ question either.

He closed his eyes and pictured Patrick's face. The gleeful spark in the eyes. The paradoxical turned-down smile. He couldn't get the image quite right. Patrick was altered, warped, and most glaringly, absent.

With thinking not an option, he leant hard into feeling, instead. Feeling and eating, his usual combination. He’d eaten most of the cookie that morning, but just around the edges, so the icing words were in tact. The message now had an air of conclusiveness to it. It looked like a label, like data, to be transferred over to the comprehensive list in David’s mind.

Patrick Brewer: 4 Months.

Sorted by length, it was right at the top.

Sorted by a lot of things, it was right at the top.

But that’s where it was, now. On his list, and no longer in his life.

He’d tempted fate, and David's always been too strong a temptation not to be taken up. So fate had devoured him.

The other shoe had finally dropped, and what a relief.

Is that what he was feeling, then? Relief?

Relief is supposed to feel lighter, like freedom, and rightness.

Someone was knocking on his door. No, thank you, to that.

The sound persisted, a regular, sharp thudding. His heartbeat, abstracted to the outside.

Ignored. Not taking the hint.

Stevie’s voice, some clattery sounds, a then a phone, slid under his door, open on a call. Intruding, invading, violating.

“He’s on his way. It’s for _you.”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Confrontation

It was a strange thing, to be standing in your motel room with your friend on the other side of the door, and her phone on your floor, faintly repeating your name in your ex-boyfriend’s voice.

 _“He’s on his way,”_ she’d said.

Patrick was making a phone call while driving. He was going to get himself hurt, that stupid man. David picked up the phone.

“You shouldn’t be on your phone while you’re driving. You’re supposed to be responsible.”

And he ended the call.

On his way to do what, though? Answering that would require answering the unfathomable question of why Patrick had targeted David in the first place, so it wasn’t worth wondering.

The only thing David could control was what he would say when Patrick arrived. He’d dreamed up a lot of post-breakup speeches, in his time, but usually people didn’t stick around to hear them. This was a luxury, if he could get Patrick to listen to him.

But it wasn’t long before he heard the car, the door, the purposeful strides in the well-worn shoes, and he might have been imagining it, but, the shuddering deep breath in.

And he opened the door.  
  
Patrick looked surprised, and he was silent for a moment, arm held frozen half its way to knocking.

“Thank you, David. I wasn’t sure you were going to let me in, I-”

David pushed the door wide and took a few steps back into the room, arms crossed over his chest, chin raised at an angle somewhere between nonchalance and defiance. He gestured for Patrick to sit on his bed, which he did.

“No, come in, this is good, I usually don’t get to tell people off after they’ve betrayed me, this will be good for me.”

It didn’t feel good for him. Patrick’s eyes were making it feel worse and worse by the second. Having him sit was a mistake, this angle could prove devastating.

He was grateful he had time alone to fortify his defences before those eyes made their assault.

“So—” David began, but Patrick was already speaking.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, I don’t know what she said, but I think you need to hear me tell you I am not engaged. I’m not cheating on you, I’m not cheating _with_ you. I’m just, I’m with you.”

Oh.

“Oh. Then…what—?”

“I _was_ engaged. We were on and off since high school. I broke it off for good, months ago. When I moved here. She’s been trying to get back in contact, I haven’t returned her texts, so I guess she figured out where I was, and she showed up. I didn’t know she was going to. This is the last way I’d want you to find out about Rachel.”

Rachel. That was the name he didn’t catch. It sounded so familiar in Patrick’s mouth. Habitual, comfortable. Worn.

Rachel. God, if Patrick had ruined Jennifer Aniston for David…

Rachel…who David had…given…his phone to…for some reason.

There was a lot going on. He shook his head, and released himself from his own protective hold to shake out his arms and hands and everywhere else that the ‘Patrick Is Engaged’ belief was grounding itself.

Easy things first.

“Um, Rachel’s not the kind of person who’d run away with my phone, is she?”

“No, that’s not her.” 

“Mm.”

Hard things.

“Who are _you_ , though?”

“I— I don’t know how to answer that, except to say that I’ve never lied to you, David.”

 _“You worked at a Rose Video?”_  
  
“Oh. Yeah.”  
  
“How is this not something you tell me?”  
  
“I wanted to keep things interesting.”

“Well, great job, I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“I’m sorry.”

Some time passed without either of them speaking. David processed the new information to the sounds of Patrick repeatedly scratching his hands over his own thighs, and the back of his neck. David recalled Rachel's sweet, sad little face, looking so lost and alone.

“I don’t know how you could do that to a person.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t keep it from you on purpose.”

“No, I mean, disappear. Poor Rachel. She seemed so sad, so broken. She’s not _crazy,_ right? She’s not toxic, she’s not dangerous. You loved each other.”

Patrick looked quizzically at David. “…Yeah.”

“And she thought you were still together! She came all the way out here to get the explanation you owed her, and you totally ignored her. I get if you weren’t ready to come out to her but you...you were living this life here, and you seemed so happy.”

“I was!”

“You were so happy and she was so miserable and you gave her nothing.”

“David, I know, you’re right, I feel awful about it, but can we not talk about Rachel’s feelings anymore? Can we talk about yours? About us?”

“It’s the same thing.”

Patrick sucked in a breath, sharp and hard, and spoke firmly, surely. “It’s not the same thing, David.”

“No, it’s not. She got to watch you grow up, and I don’t know you at all.”

“You know me. Better than her— better than anyone, I think.”

David scrunched up his face, unconvinced. “What, because I know you’re into guys? You could go to a Pride parade and then everyone will know you’re queer and you won’t have to feel so bound to your secret keeper.”

Patrick looked like he’d been kicked. David knew it was a low blow.

Patrick stood and moved toward him. “That’s not fair, David.”

David sniffed, and doubled down rather than concede his own fault. “It’s not _fair_ of a person to just ghost on a massive relationship, skip town, and act out a new identity with the first guy you meet who’s dumb enough to fall for it, before you decide you’re done rebelling and, I don’t know, head back home and make it ‘on-again’ with your real life!”

“That’s not what this is!” Patrick nearly shouted, urgent.

“How do I _know?!”_ David met Patrick’s volume, desperate.

“Because, David, I _love_ you!”

The words rang in David’s ears, rapidly crescendoing into screaming tones of alarm bells that seemed to resonate in his every vein.

He felt like he’d been plunged into ice-cold water. He felt like he’d been flung into space. He felt untethered, unsafe, confused.

“That’s quite the punchline.” He managed.

“Jesus, David, it’s not a _punchline.”_ Patrick looked like he wasn’t sure whether to move closer to David or away from him.

“Well, but, that’s…not…why would you say that? Is it your big final play? Is that how you kept getting Rachel back? I get it, you know, this whole thing could be very convincing.”

He gestured vaguely at Patrick’s contrite demeanour and wide, wide eyes.

“No, David, no, it’s—”

“Why would you say that?” David repeated, quietly.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Patrick was shaking a little, which was a strange choice for this move.

Oh.

“I see.”

“No, I mean, I do, love you, David, god, I love you-“

“Please stop saying that.” It was almost a whisper, and his eyes were closed.

But Patrick kept on, still shaking. “And I think, I think you love me too.”

David laughed at that, and flung his arms wide, shooting his eyes toward the ceiling.

“Well, that’s fucking _obvious,_ isn’t it?”

Patrick’s eyes left David, finally. He spoke to the floor. “This isn’t how I wanted this moment to go.”

David laughed again. “Oh, you mean you didn’t dream about saying that to each other during the break-up?”

In an instant, Patrick’s lifted his eyes and they blazed into David’s once again. “Is that what this is?”

David took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly as he straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. He tried putting his hands on his hips, because strong, but hesitated, then ran them over his face, behind his neck, and finally settled again into wrapping his arms tightly across his chest, before he spoke.

“I can’t keep putting myself through this. I should know better by now. I don’t deserve it. I’m a grown man. I run a business.”

His use of the singular “I” in the last phrase tasted all wrong in his mouth. But he had to stand by it. This was his big moment, standing up for himself. Redeeming himself. Saving himself. So he returned his hands to his hips, met Patrick’s shocked gaze like a challenge, and repeated himself.

“ _I…_ run a business. Now.”

“David, you don’t—”

“I think I can learn how to do a fucking spreadsheet.”

There was a long silence. Patrick looked away. Down, and to the side. And then the other. He took a slow, deliberate blink and shook his head very slightly, then met David’s eyes.

“You can.” Patrick was earnest, and soft.

“Well, good, then, I guess.” David’s voice had faltered a little.

“David…”

David sat down on his bed and spoke steadily to his hands as they lay clasped in his lap. “It hurt, Patrick. A lot. That moment I realised who Rachel was. And even though it was’t true, apparently, what _is_ true is that I now know I can’t trust you to do right by people who you…by people you’re in a relationship with. And I can’t take another moment like that. I can’t. And if you really cared about me at all, you wouldn’t try to lure me out to the edge of that cliff again. I’m done. We’re done. All of it.”

He didn’t look up. He prayed that Patrick wouldn’t argue. And then he hoped that he would.

Patrick just sighed.

“Before I go, can I get you anything? What do you need?”

“No, thank you.”

“If you’re sure.”

David didn’t respond, because he wasn’t.

Patrick went toward the door. He moved heavily.

“I just needed...” David murmured, mostly to himself.

Patrick turned sharply.

“Yeah, David? Anything.”

“I just needed to file my fucking incorporation papers.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t need this.”

“I’m sorry, David.”

And he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick in the aftermath.

He could have let himself break down just outside David’s door, where he had paused for what felt like forever. He wished it could be forever, in a way. This state of shock was a liminal space between living what had just happened, and processing it. If he never had to process it, it never had to be real. Or something like that.

But he didn’t, or couldn’t, break down quite yet. And he couldn’t avoid the reality. He had a task. David had sent him away. From his heart, where he posed too much of a risk, and from their store, where his presence would be painful.

 _David’s_ store.

So he had to go away. He had to proceed with the processes of Going Away.

Could he have said anything?

Could he have done anything?  
  
If he looked over the play tape of this whole evening, could he find the mistake? The opportunity he didn’t take? The wrong words he said—

Okay, yes, he’d definitely said the wrong words.

_“Because, David, I love you.”_

Those words had left his mouth like his last breath, leaving him seized and choking in an instant. The word had been ringing in his mind since his conversation with Rachel— “ _He clearly loves you.”_ It was so close at hand, so within reach, the clearest thing to grab onto, to fling it out for David to grab onto, when it felt like they were both drowning. But it only plunged David further down.

It seemed impossible that 'I love you' could ever be the _wrong_ words, when spoken so honestly. They’d been wrong before, when they were truthful in the wrong way. But this was a matter of timing. The worst timing of his life. Timing that he _should have known_ would be catastrophic.

Patrick had heard a lot of bad declarations of love in his life. All of Rachel’s pleading, red-eyed supplications. But David, looking desolate and exhausted, shouting 'Well, that’s fucking obvious!' to his ceiling far outstripped them all.

David was right, though. The real mistake, the real fatal error, was his actions toward Rachel, not anything he said, or didn’t say, to David.

David, with his giant heart (which loved Patrick), sympathising with the ‘cute, sad girl' who’d crashed his family barbecue. Seeing things from her perspective in a way Patrick never could.

David (who Patrick loved), looking small, hunched on his bed, staring at his hands (which Patrick loved). Begging Patrick to go.

The thought that that could have been the last he ever saw of David Rose, and that’s how he looked. That’s how Patrick left him. When he left him.

_Well, that’s fucking obvious, isn’t it?_

It was tempting, it was so, so tempting, to give in to self pity. To luxuriate in hating himself. To torture himself, to cry, to wallow. But the thought of it made him furious with himself.

He couldn’t give up. He couldn’t disrespect David’s earnest demands, but he couldn’t give up.

He really had to get into his car.

And then he had to go to the store, tidy up his books and his systems so they could be transitioned to someone else’s handling.

And then Ray’s. Pack his things, and let Ray know he was breaking his lease.

And then what?

And then he would flee, again? Get back on the road, find some place new and start over?

But no, he wouldn’t. He had a little bit of that urge again, but like the urge to wallow, it felt frustratingly juvenile, and unproductive. Because where would that lead? He’d tried that, striking out and finding happiness in a different life. And it had worked, right up until he was thwarted by his old reality, the reality of who he’d been— the person who had written the script of who he was.

So, and then… home. Back home. _Home_ home.

He’d left home to escape, to start fresh.

He was returning home to fix. To take responsibility, to improve.

He would give Rachel what he owed her, and pray that he could make it close to what she deserved.

He would stop shutting out his parents, and let them in on the truth of his life.

He was returning, he was making amends, he was growing.

He was not running away.  
  
He was not giving up on David.

He was going to deserve David.

He was going to show David that, and he was going to let David choose to take him back, on David’s own terms.

Somehow.

He did not know how he was going to do it. But he was going to figure it out, and it was going to work. Because they loved each other, and because Patrick was taking charge. Of himself.

He got a call when he was an hour out from his home town the next day. It was Stevie. He pulled over.

“Don’t you dare give up,” she told him.

He was mildly surprised to discover his face still knew how to smile.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David in the aftermath. And his gals.

When David approached the motel reception desk the next morning, Stevie had two things waiting for him— his phone, with a post-it note attached, and a key. Patrick’s key to the store. The objects were like two terrible relics from the previous night, existing in tandem as clues, evidence for someone to examine to try and piece together what on earth had happened.

Stevie pushed them toward David with an expression that was troubling in that it was an expression.

The note was from Rachel, naturally. It read:

_David,_

_I’m so sorry about everything. I doubt you want to talk to me but there are some things I’d really like to say to you. I think you and Patrick are great together and I hope I haven’t ruined it for you both._

_xo  
_ _Rachel_

_P.S. Who still plays Candy Crush?_

Stevie was watching his face closely, so he willed his features into something about as neutral as he could muster, but his brows still painted impassioned slashes when he tightly said “Hmp.”

“For what it’s worth, _I_ still play Candy Crush too. Uh, maybe we could give each other lives sometime.”

“Yeah, I know.” He handed her phone over. “We could do that.”

“Thanks. So um, how are you…doing?” Stevie attempted, commendably.

“I actually slept a decent amount.” David replied, honestly and surprised by it.

“Yeah, they say it’s really good for your sleep not to have your phone nearby.”

“Mm. Well, you know me, I’ll go to any lengths for good sleep hygiene.”

“Gross.”

“That’s what it’s _called._ So um, I guess if this is here—” he lightly nudged the key— “and your face looks like this—” he swept his hand in a limp circle in front of her her face— “you, probably…know…”

“I have heard a tale.”

David’s gaze had dropped back down to the key. It looked lonely and foreign, no longer cohabiting with the cheap plastic keyring sporting some sporting logo or other. David probably would have found out, eventually. That would maybe have been a Month Six question.

“You okay?” Stevie asked, reasonably, because most okay people don’t gaze forlornly at keys for extended lengths of time, probably.

David shrugged, still not looking at her. “What’s your…opinion, then, about the _tale?”_

Stevie took a moment and cocked her head. “Do you need me to attempt sincerity, or can I talk normal?”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

“I think you’re an idiot.”

David scrunched up his face. “Okay, sincerity then, please.”

“That _was_ sincerity.”

David defended himself with an exasperated sigh, tapping his temple pointedly. “It was actually an extremely _smart_ and _wise_ decision, thank you, I was only being an idiot _before_ when I started letting myself…believe…trust…whatever.” His voice grew smaller as he trailed off, embarrassed.

“Yeah. Maybe he would have betrayed you and broken your heart some day.”

“I’m sorry, did you miss the part where he already chose not to tell me he had a fiancée?”

“He didn’t, though.”

David huffed.

What was it about Stevie that made his deep well of dark, tragic, complicated feelings seem like a vaguely murky puddle on the sidewalk on a clear day? She always brought things back up to ground level and shone a light on them, and that was very rude and inconsiderate of her.

“I have to go to the store. Alexis is getting us coffee and meeting me there.”

“Alexis?”  
  
David rolled his eyes, a little performatively.

“She insisted. Apparently Patrick’s been showing her something she need to know for her class and she wants to keep it up.”

“Nice of you to allow that.”  
  
“Mm.”

_“Just because you gave up on your relationship, David, doesn’t mean I should have to give up my real-world practical business work experience- that’s so not fair?”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“Ew, I don’t know what you mean. I’ll see you at the store.”_

David would have asked, though. That was something he would have done, would have been able to do. He would have asked Alexis for help, if Alexis hadn’t offered it first, in her roundabout way, with her elegant spin that saved both of them the trauma of sincerely asking for and providing help, respectively. Public Relations was going to suit her beautifully. He would tell her that. He would be able to do that.

-

Alexis was looking very wide-eyed at the account books. Not in a deer-in-headlights way, but in an owl-opening-its-irises-to-let-in-as-much-light-as-possible way. Not panic, but purpose.

“Is this okay? Does it make sense?” David was hovering, anxious.

“Mm-hmm, yes, totally David. But, going forward? I’ll be implementing a teensy little change. This was not my favourite module in business school but I figured out that it makes so much more sense if you colour-code all the little columns, so, don’t laugh at me, David, but I’m gonna need at least half a dozen coloured pens.”

David was not laughing at her.

“But don’t worry, David— since they’ll only be used in the operation of the business, you can list it as a—”

“A tax write-off,” he finished with her. She blinked at him proudly. David sensed that under other circumstances she would have booped his nose in this moment.

“I can make that happen. Just let me know what kind of colour schemes you’re thinking of. Given it will be confined to the books, I will allow you some creative control. _Some._ ”

“Okay, good. That’s all I need. Like, I can see how someone like Patrick might be able to do this stuff in monochrome, but I just don’t see why he _would.”_

She said all of this very fast, as is normal for her, but she sped up even more to rush past Patrick’s name. Which seemed a shame, to some part of David. That name sounded really nice when you gave it careful attention and space to resonate.

-

They got along fine. Alexis taught David the processes as she did them, which was infuriating, but she did it with a delicate, detached patience, which was much more infuriating.

She buzzed and hummed beside him and around him with unspoken creative ideas she knew he didn't want to hear. They both knew whatever ideas she had would be wrong for David’s very specific store, but could be so right for some hypothetical future Alexis Rose business venture, which couldn’t take flight while he was trapping her there with him.

They _could_ do it, the two of them, but that didn’t mean they should.

So she finished teaching him the essentials, and he set her free the day after her diploma arrived.

_“Oh, fuck,” he said, “I didn’t realise you were so close to the end of your course— didn’t you have, like, exams or whatever?”_

_She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s fine, David.”_

_“But—”_

_“It was basically studying, David. It’s actually kind of like you were doing me a favour, by getting me to help you.”_

And he gritted his teeth and headed to the Town Hall to file a form with Roland. And he took two hours inputting the data from the week’s books into the spreadsheet on the computer, and he got a headache, either from the numbers or the colour scheme Alexis landed on (there was glitter.) He still felt a warm glow of pride when he intuited a customer's needs and directed them to something beautiful that fulfilled them. And he still felt the frisson of aesthetic contentment as he re-aligned the display of scarves, but he got a small stomach ache thinking of how to amend the contract with the weaver since their sales hadn't picked up.

And when he finally got home and into bed, he was too exhausted to think anything, except that he knew he could do it on his own, but he didn't have to.

At no point did the idea of hiring a new person arise.

-

The next day, he called Rachel.

He called her at 8am, and apparently his ‘not a morning person’ vibes were evident even to her, because when he told her who was calling she said “David Rose? is something wrong?”

And he laughed lowly a little and said “I’m hoping you’re going to tell me it’s not as wrong as I think it is.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David learns some things from Rachel.

“I’m hoping you’re going to tell me it’s not as wrong as I think it is.” David had dialled while still lying in bed, eyes squeezed shut, because he was not brave (and that was a brave sentence to say.)

He hadn’t gotten any sleep. He was waiting for something close to a reasonable time of day, and to have the room to himself, to make the call. Now, finally, the sun had soundly risen, and Alexis was on a morning run, because Alexis was an alien. 

David heard a soft laugh. 

“I think I can do that. I’m really glad you called, David.” 

Rachel’s voice was so warm and nice, and he awoke to it in a way he did not awake to the actual sun. He sat up but kept his sheets hugged to his chest with his free hand. 

“Is this a bad time? Did I wake you up?”

“No, no, you’re okay.” 

“So are you the kind of person who just is awake at 8am, then?”

She laughed again. “Was the purpose of this call to investigate what kind of person I am?”

_Kind of._

“No? I don’t know. That might help? I don’t know.” 

“It’s okay, David. Yes, I wake up before 8am on a regular basis.”

“Okay. Good. So, I guess I’ll just… I don’t know how much, whether— Um. I broke up with him? And I told him to leave, so he’s gone, I’m not sure where.”

Rachel, the saint, did not react in any way to David’s nervous, nonsensical word jumble.

“Yeah, I know. He’s here.” She said. 

David’s heart plummeted.

“He’s with…you?”

“No! Wow, sorry. No he’s in town. He came back here, he’s staying with his parents. And he came to see me, and apologise to me for disappearing the way he did. And other stuff.”

 _Other stuff._ What an understatement. The humility of this poor girl. 

“Oh, okay. That’s…nice. I figured he ran off to somewhere new to find more lives to ruin.” The words came out, but they didn’t have much conviction. 

“Well, that’s not what he did this time."

 _Interesting._ David shuffled back on his bed and rearranged a pillow to lean against, legs crossed.

“Um. You said in your note that there were things you wanted to say to me?”

“Right. Yes. I’ve felt awful that I haven’t been able to, yet, but he told me not to keep trying to contact you, he said it would be up to you to decide whether to talk to us, well, to me.”

“Oh.”

“He was very clear about respecting your boundaries.”

_Oh._

“Oh. So, what did you want to tell me?”

“I…” She took a breath, in and out. “I think I misrepresented the nature of our relationship, and our break-up. I’m pretty sure I only referred to him as my fiancé, present tense? No, I know I did. But I think you know by now that that was not the truth. I was acting out of some kind of delusional optimism, and I never would have done it if I knew who I was talking to, and your situation. I’m so sorry.”

David ran a tense hand through his hair. He bunched some strands behind his head in a fist, and then released them, and let his hand fall to his side. 

“So… you did know that you were broken up. For good.”

“Obviously I didn’t want to really believe it, but…yeah, he’d made it clear. There was something different than all the other times he’d broken up with me. I didn’t want to admit it. We’d just…we’d been together so long. He was my person for so long. It was a huge change, and I couldn’t come to terms with it, not when it felt so similar to break-ups in the past that didn’t last. I was avoiding living in that reality, so I spoke like I wasn’t, and I think that might have helped mess things up for you, so, I’m sorry.”

David scratched his thumb and middle finger over his eyebrows and let out a long breath before responding. 

“I see. Well, thanks, for the apology.”

“You’re welcome.” It was quiet, like she didn’t really feel deserving of thanks.

“So…had he run away, before? Is that like a pattern, of his?”

“Not really, no. Usually he'd just be on a friend's couch or something.”

He clenched and unclenched his teeth.

“I’ve been scared that if I stayed in a relationship with him, one day he might just up and leave out of the blue, because that’s what he’d done to you, but you’re telling me he didn’t do that to you?” 

“I mean, no. But it still felt really shitty that he didn’t respond to my messages, though, and I had no idea what he was doing or where he was. It was like he just vanished from my life, but also like he just vanished me from his life. I felt like I wasn’t someone whose life and wellbeing mattered to him at all, anymore. But meanwhile I was so worried about him, so I didn’t get the chance to…not care, too, you know?”

His heart softened for her again. She might not have gone through quite what David had been picturing, but it was still hurtful.

“Yeah. I know. It sucks that he did that to you.” He offered. 

“Even if he had done what you’re afraid of… David, the guy that came back here and apologised to me isn’t the guy I was engaged to. My Patrick would never have been strong enough to have the conversation we had a week ago. And the guy in that photo of you two on your phone…I’ve never seen him before.” Her voice was breaking a little. “I think you’re the only one who can bring that Patrick to life.”

Tears were stinging at the corner of David’s eyes, and their source was complicated, and confusing, and maddening. Gratitude, anger, regret, indignation, hope, dread, good old fashioned love. 

“Are you okay?” Rachel asked. 

_What a question._ David did his best to ascertain his feelings and express himself honestly. Like a good person. Whatever that was.

“I think I’m…mad at you?” He attempted.

“That would be okay, if you’re mad. I get it. And again, I’m really sorry. I did tell you to call me though, I could have cleared this up a week ago.” Her tone became a little teasing, which was a bold move, but welcome. And familiar. 

He nearly laughed, and wiped at his eyes. All the confusing emotions were still jostling each other for space, and he started to feel a little hysterical. 

“Well! That’s! …Fair.” He ran his hand over his face. “God, this week has been _horrible,_ and now I’m learning all that _suffering_ was for nothing? He… _loves_ me. He told me he loved me. When I broke up with him.”

There was a hissing sound down the phone, Rachel sweeping a swift breath in through gritted teeth. 

“For the first time?” She asked.

“First break-up or first L-word? Because, both.”

“He told you he loved you for the first time while you were breaking up?”

“Yes. I didn’t care for it.”

“Wow. Well, he’s an idiot.”

 _Is not._ The certainty of the instinct to defend Patrick surprised David, and didn’t. 

“Hm.” He said.

“But um, do you want another reason to be mad?” 

He actually laughed, and his response was loud and high-pitched. “I mean, do I?”

“I think I might have told him that you loved him?”

It was as if somebody had let off an air-horn in David's arena of chattering emotions, and they were all shocked into stillness, or fled. It was like a reset.

“…Excuse me?”

“That night. On your phone. It was a heated moment, you know? I wasn’t thinking— I just, I saw the way you spoke about him, and your…everything, and it seemed…I guess I assumed you were already saying that to each other… I mean you _do_ love him, right? Or… _did?”_

David brought his knees up to his chest, laid his arms on top of them, and rested his chin on his left arm.

“No…no, I do.”

_It’s probably weird for your ex-boyfriend’s ex-fiancée to be the second person you tell that you love your ex-boyfriend._

Rachel didn’t respond, but her silence was somehow _aww-_ shaped.

“But if he believed you…that might explain why…why he thought he could…tell me—”

“Yeah, I’d say so. What did you say?”

“He said he thought I loved him too, so I said that was… _effing_ obvious.” Swearing at Rachel didn’t feel right.

“Oh no.”

“Yeah it wasn’t a fun break-up, Rachel.”

“Jesus. David, I’m very sorry I took that moment from you. And also, I’m sorry—”

“God, what else? Have you murdered my cat?”

“Aww, do you have a cat?”

“Not the point.”

“Well, I’m sorry… about the Candy Crush joke. We are not at jokes. I’ve been regretting it this whole time. You are very good at Candy Crush, though.”

David laughed. “Mmm, I don’t think I can forgive you for making fun of my app choices.”

“And the other stuff?”

He sighed. “I guess we’ll see.”

Rachel's next question was tentative. “Would you keep me in the loop, with whatever happens, if that’s okay? I’m pretty invested, now.”

“Um. Okay, if you want.”

“Thanks. Well, I guess I’ll—”

“Wait, Rachel, before you go—”

“Yeah?”

“I just…how…are you?”

Rachel made a surprised little sound. 

David continued, “It’s like… I had this idea of you being so broken by what he did, and I was holding that up like a cautionary tale to assure myself I made the right decision, but, I realise now I’d put the story together wrong. And talking to you, you seem…okay, at least. Are you?”

She sighed.

“Thank you for asking, David. You’re very sweet. I am okay. I was definitely very hurt, and betrayed, and angry at him for never…being honest with me, before, I guess? It’s gonna take a while for that to fully heal. In some ways I feel relieved, honestly. It was so often such a struggle, our relationship. Knowing now that it’s definitely over, and having a concrete reason for why it was never right, that’s a relief. Mostly right now I feel stupid for never knowing, or guessing. And guilty? For, I don’t know, keeping him for so long. Insisting on having him. He wanted to please me so much. He wants to please people so much. But I loved him. I still love him. I don’t think that’s ever going to go away, entirely. Sorry. This is too much. I haven’t been able to talk like this with people who are close to me.”

As Rachel was speaking, David had repositioned himself so he was lying on his side, hugging his knees. The gesture was half for his own comfort and half, somehow, for Rachel’s. “No, it’s okay. Um, thank you, for being open. And for wanting to help.”

“Of course.” Her voice still had that warmth. “Good luck. Whatever you choose to do. You deserve good things.”

“I know.” He said, and meant it. “You, too.” He said, and meant it. 

And then the call was over. 

And this was why people shouldn’t make phone calls at 8am. Now there were all these _things_ to process— everything had been turned upside-down again and shaken around, again— and David hadn’t even had a coffee. He flipped onto his back, closed his eyes and sighed.

 _“It was so often a struggle, our relationship.”_ Rachel had said.

The idea that being with Patrick could be a struggle, something difficult, something requiring the soul-crushing kind of Hard Work, struck David sharply. A brand new, baffling concept. 

It was a struggle being David, for sure, in any relationship. And trying to come to terms with deserving being with Patrick was definitely a struggle. But _being with him_ was just easy. They just fit together. Until now, David had never really considered that he had something to do with that. Before the barbecue, it just seemed like Patrick Was Good At Being In A Relationship, so of course it was easy. David had an as-yet unexamined image of Patrick as this perfect person, jaunting from place to place, making people feel lucky for a while. But the truth was coming into focus now: Patrick Was Good At Being In A Relationship _With David, Specifically._

_“I think you’re the only one who can bring that Patrick alive.”_

So, if Patrick wasn’t perfect, and wasn’t a malicious deceiving monster, and was just a person, figuring it out, and if he was really in love with David, and if falling in love with David had come so easily to him, and he was so happy, and they were so happy… maybe this relationship wouldn’t be so dangerous after all. Or maybe it was worth the risk. Because this was special. This was kind of a miracle. Patrick wasn’t a miracle, _Patrick and David,_ together, were. 

As he thought all this through, David could feel his heart straining against the protective barriers he’d enclosed it within. It was ever hopeful, David’s heart. He had low expectations, sure, but a hopeful, hopeful heart. David had learned from experience, so he no longer expected much.

But his heart had always been fuelled by hope. It had always arisen in hope after each time it was burned. It was exhausting, and it was painful, but it would, eventually, be glorious.

And there was nothing David could do about it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David learns some things from Stevie.

David itched to call Patrick, or message him, but he had no idea what he would say, and he wanted to run the idea by someone who had presumably slept the night before. Alexis had just returned from her run, oblivious to the romantic breakthrough David was having, and jumped straight into the shower, so he could wait for her, but he also absolutely could not. Instead, he completed what steps of his morning beauty routine he could accomplish outside of the bathroom, and stormed over to reception. 

“Uh, hi.” Stevie seemed, understandably, a little alarmed at his appearance— both the suddenness of his presence and the state of his aesthetic.

“So, I think that I miss Patrick and I want him to come back.” He let out a long breath. He might have been holding it since he got off the phone with Rachel, who could say?

“You do, huh?” Stevie made a commendable effort to look surprised, and to hide a smile, but _'Of course you do, you idiot (who I love)'_ was blaring from her eyes, as it often does. 

“Mm. Apparently he went back to his home town.” He narrowed his eyes to study Stevie’s reaction. “Which is information…that you…knew.”

“Yep.” She popped the ‘p’ a little bit, as though this were a casual and normal conversation.

“Are you…conspiring with him?” 

“Well I wouldn’t say _conspiring.”_

“Okay, then what would you say?”

“…No, actually, it’s pretty much conspiring.”

“All this time I’ve been imagining where he went and what he’s doing and you, just, knew, then?”

“Have you been? You didn’t tell me that. Do you want to know?”

“Of course I do.”

“Are you asking?”

Exasperated, he turned the irony on heavy. “Oh yes, oh _please,_ Ms Stevie! I want to know what Patrick’s doing!”

“Aha! The magic words!” Her eyes widened theatrically as she reached under her desk, and with an ironic but really rather stylish flourish, produced a small stack of envelopes. _“Voila!”_

David eyed the envelopes. They were identical, and he could see his name in neat print on the top one.

“What are these?” 

“Letters, David. Still haven’t figured out the postal system, huh?”

He shot her a glare and tentatively picked up the top envelope.

“This has been opened already?”

“Yeah, sorry, condition of the arrangement.”

Exasperation narrowly edged out curiosity and hope and overtook David’s being. _“Could you please just explain all of the things at once_ _?”_ He demanded.

“Well the postal service was one of the first state institutions established in—”

_“STEVIE.”_

She looked very pleased with herself, but, mercifully, reined in her trolling instincts to explain. 

“He wanted a way to let you know he’s still in, that he has no intention of abandoning you, that he’s learned, he’s not the same guy who ghosted on Rachel, he wants to communicate and let you in on his life more, etcetera, but he had to do it on your terms, because you set your boundaries, and he respects that, and he doesn’t want to hurt you any more.” 

She said all this quite quickly, as if from rote, as if it were not the most utterly fascinating series of words David had ever had the pleasure of hearing. 

She continued, “So, he’s written letters, to you, care of me, to deliver at my discretion when and if I think you actually want them.” She prodded at the stack. “There’s one there for every day since he left." 

David blinked rapidly, shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat that may as well have been his heart, before managing to speak.

“Well, this is all very _The Notebook. ”_

“No, I think he used loose leaf paper.” 

_Ugh, troll._

David peered inside the envelope and produced two folded pages. Analysing the paper was a welcome distraction from the Very Big Feelings that Stevie had just conjured.

“He did, actually, and this is very nice stock. Looks handmade. I wonder if we can get in touch with the paper artist.” 

He turned the paper delicately in his hands, ran his fingertips over the surface, sniffed it a little, and then regretted very much doing that in front of Stevie, but she didn’t comment on it.

“Yeah, doesn’t seem like that’s the point, David.”

He expelled a huffy little breath, directing his own attention back to the Very Big Situation. 

“So. He wrote me. Every day.” He gathered up the rest of the envelopes, letting himself see his name repeated on each one.

“Yeah, but unlike the mean rich mom, I was _supposed_ to hide them from you.”

“See! You _have_ seen _The Notebook.”_

“Please. Rachel McAdams _and_ Ryan Gosling? That’s a treat for _anyone.”_

“Mm. The real draw, aesthetically, is James Marsden, actually? But thanks for playing.”

“Go read your love letters, David.”

“Love letters.” He repeated, softly. 

“That I have also read.”

He screwed up his face. “I’m choosing to ignore that detail.” He headed for the door but stopped mid-exit, and turned. 

“Thank you.”

“Hey, any time.” She smiled, “I assume this situation will occur two to three more times in the future.”

“I dislike you.”

“Seeya.”

“Oh and let me know how much I owe you for everything you had to pay the mail man.” 

“…What?”

…

David stared at the letters in his hand in dreamy disbelief. He’d always imagined receiving love letters, but the closest he’d gotten had been with Tony, from prison, which didn’t quite cut it, somehow. And now he had a stack of them. From Patrick. With the specific intent of winning him back. It was a lot. And he still hadn’t had coffee. 

He walked, on air, to the cafe, where he fielded more “Are you okay”s than he had after the actual breakup, owing presumably to his surely dishevelled appearance, but he couldn’t seem to care about that. He checked that Alexis would be out for the day, walked the coffee and the letters back to his room, and settled again on his bed. 

There’s no practical reason for a person to clear their throat before opening a letter that they have no intention of reading aloud, but that is what David did. Or that is what it sounded like, as, squinting, he slid his thumb between the folds of the paper, shucking the letter open and keenly aware of the smooth, soft, satisfying sound it caused. 

The page was full, and David could see immediately there was care and attention in the pen-strokes. There was some wobbliness and some heaviness, where insecurity and certainty made themselves shown at turns. This distinguished the handwriting from Patrick’s usual efforts. But the diligence was still there. Patrick had taken his time with this.

_Dear_ _David,_

And he’d underlined ‘dear’, but faintly. As if hesitantly, questioningly, apologetically. David could picture him gazing at the word, like he’d used that form of address before, mindlessly, and was just for the first time now, meaning it. It was a hell of a start. 

_Thank you for choosing to read this letter. I do not want to impose myself on you, but I want to prove that I’m not going to put you through what I did to Rachel, and that I want, now, to communicate fully, share myself fully. To do that, I want to tell you where I am and what I am doing, and that I do it all while thinking of you, and wanting you. And if you’re reading this, that means you’re at least curious, and that makes me happy. (Or, you’re torturing yourself. That seems like something you might do? I don’t want you to proceed if you’re just doing it to hurt yourself, David. You were so strong talking about what you deserve to feel, and you were right._

_This letter really wasn’t intended to convince you to stick with your decision to send me away. I should probably start again but I should definitely be honest, so.)_

_I’ve driven back to my parents’ and I’m staying with them. I’ve told them everything. I thought it would be harder, but it was like I just couldn’t help saying it all. You’ve opened something in me that’s like a compulsive need to be brazenly myself, in all that that means._

_Even if you don’t change your mind, this— this relationship, this horrible situation, the way you handled yourself, and spoke about my actions— changed me, and I’m grateful for that._

_This letter was also not supposed to say “thank you for being so hurt by me.”_

_I’ve never written letters before. I’m gonna get better at it._

_This letter was just supposed to tell you what I’m doing. So:_

_-Drove six hours. Two stops. No snacks. One sports drink. No radio, either._

_-Showed up on parents’ doorstep. Talked. A lot._

_-More Wheel of Fortune than I would have liked._

_-Pot roast._

**_Yours_** ** _,_** _whether or not you’ll have me,_

_Patrick._

_P.S._

_Here is one of the ways I’ve dreamed about it:_

_We are in my car, I am driving. A Mariah song comes on the radio. You reach to turn it up but my hand is already there. You laugh and say it casually, by accident, and then you are horrified at yourself. I pull over quickly. You try to backtrack, minimise, apologise. My instinct is to tease you a little, act shocked, but I’m smiling too hard to pull it off. I take your face in my hands so you have to look at me when I tell you that I love you too. And then we kiss a lot._

_I’m sorry I ruined it._

_…_

The rest of the letters decreased gradually in apologies and declarations, and began to read more like a psychotically detailed diary. Errands run, chores completed, books read, breakfasts, lunches, dinners and snacks, topics of conversations shared, _full grocery lists,_ distant relatives he’d paid cursory visits to, and some references to what seemed like earnest but half-hearted attempts to find a job. As love letters went, these should have been impossibly dry and dull, but they were Patrick’s life, and still charmingly tinged with Patrick-ness in the meticulous, sometimes wry, earnest execution. 

And closing each letter was a different post-scripted could-have-been that somehow in all its fictional fantasy still made David’s heart soar. Some took place at the store, one in a restaurant, the first was not the last to be set in one of their cars— Patrick was clearly sentimental about things that had happened for them in cars. A couple were tied to events and situations that had already occurred, and were missed opportunities. 

Part of David had been secretly indignant that Patrick hadn’t been contacting him after the breakup. He took it as confirmation that he didn’t really care, rather than taking it as Patrick respecting his boundaries. Part of David had been really messed up by some shitty rom-com tropes, apparently. 

But on the contrary, here was evidence that Patrick still cared, still wanted him, _and_ was making an effort to atone for his past mistakes, _and_ still respected David’s choices. It was kind of a genius plan, and Stevie was very smart and good. 

When he finished reading, the pages were spread over David’s bed like confetti. He moved to tidy them up, to place them back in the envelopes, to take care of them and find somewhere safe to hide them away, like the rest of his prized possessions. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, or to do anything but immediately respond. 

So he wrote a letter. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David is a mail man now.

David wrote a letter. 

It was on paper that he’d meticulously torn out of his journal, and he folded it up and sealed it in a surprisingly aesthetically acceptable stamped envelope purloined from Alexis’s new Girl Boss Workspace. He copied Patrick’s return address from one of his letters, and set off for the mail box. And then realised he had no idea where the mail box was, so set off for Stevie’s desk so that she could post it for him. And then he remembered that mail takes a couple of days to arrive, which is _stupid,_ so he set off back to his family’s rooms. He filled out the sign-out sheet for the car, because he is responsible, and listed 'Love' under Purpose of Trip, because apparently he is Elle Woods. 

He copied the address into his navigation app, placed the envelope on the passenger seat, and set off for Patrick. 

He drove for five and a half hours. He made two stops, and he didn’t get any snacks. He started out playing music, but all the optimistic romanticism that dominated his playlists felt too on-the-nose for the situation, and it was overwhelming and a little embarrassing. (He still sang some to himself under his breath, and then belted some at the top of his lungs, and laughed at himself, and cried a bit, and it was a singularly weird 5.5 hours that he would never speak of but would often think of.)

He reached his destination, and the Brewer house was breathtakingly Brewer-y. He parked on a corner. It was dark, and he crept out of his car and placed the letter in the mailbox, and went back to his car.

And nobody was going to check the mail at this time of night, and what the fuck, David. 

He opened his message chain with Patrick (it was stupid and bad, the number of conversations with non-Patrick people he’d had to scroll past to get to it), and he typed out the words “You’ve got mail”, and he would have avoided such an obvious rom-com reference if he could have, but the fact of the matter was that Patrick had mail, and David needed to tell him that, and there was no getting around it. And they hadn’t gotten to the Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks _oeuvre_ yet so maybe Patrick wouldn’t notice and it would be fine. He hit send. 

And one hundred and fifty eight long seconds later, Patrick, robed, like a comfy, domestic, Jesus Arisen, appeared at the doorway of his parents’ house, and padded his darling slippered feet to the mailbox. 

...

  
Patrick’s phone buzzed during _Wheel of Fortune._ He had just narrowly beaten his father (and thoroughly beaten the contestants) to correctly guessing a Place, so was mid-half-hearted air-punch when he saw David’s name appear. He grabbed his phone with both hands and stared. 

**David:  
** **You’ve got mail.**

His head was spinning and his heart was thumping and he was having a lot of trouble understanding the message. That was a movie, right? Meg Ryan? Why did David send him a movie title? Was it a code? Was this good or bad? Was he going to have to watch the movie for clues? 

Clearly he looked as insane as he felt, because his dad leaned toward him looking very concerned.

“You okay there, son?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Uh. David- just texted me.”

His mom gasped and clutched her chest with one hand, and his dad’s arm with the other. 

“It says ‘you’ve got mail’, and I don’t…I don’t know…”

“Seems like maybe you should check the mailbox.” Suggested his dad, because his dad was sensible, and not insane.

“Right. Okay. Mom already brought the mail in today though, right?”

“Must’ve missed something.” She shrugged benignly.

“Go check the mail, Patrick.” 

“Good luck!” His mom called out as he headed for the front door.

He felt very stupid, heading out the door to look for mail on the off-chance that David had sent him a very literal text out of the blue with some strangely omniscient information about his household’s postal status. But he’d been feeling very stupid for a while now, so why not? 

It only struck him then (because he was stupid) that this could be related to the letters he’d been sending David. He didn’t expect David to respond in kind— David wasn’t under any communication restrictions like Patrick. He would just call, if he wanted. If he wanted. 

He reached the mailbox and felt a rush of hope as he opened it, which was quickly rewarded. A letter, addressed to him, in his favourite handwriting. 

He opened it immediately, not allowing himself a second of fretting over what the contents might be, ripping the band-aid off, taking charge. 

His racing, pounding mind was not in any state to process a great deal of words, but the letter was mercifully, blessedly, perfectly short. And mercifully, blessedly, perfect. 

_Dear_ _Patrick,_

_Please come back._

_Love,  
_ _David_

He let out a kind of sobbing cackle, and leant both arms onto the mailbox to stabilise himself on his buckling legs. He took a series of deep breaths, gazed at the sky, and felt the night breeze chill the moisture that had come to his eyes. He luxuriated in the sensations, of breathing, of feeling, of coming back to life. 

And then he brought his gaze down again, turned his head, looked down the street and saw a dark shape that strongly resembled the Roses’ car. Which it must have been, because then, inside, it, he saw David, waving lamely. 

For the third time in the past five minutes, Patrick felt his whole body clench and vibrate. A smile, closed-lipped and down-turned but no less exuberant than his toothiest grin, yearned its way across his face with an aching force like an unworked muscle. He took a deep breath and half-strode, half-jogged toward the car, barely avoiding Cinderella-ing a fluffy blue slipper in his parents’ driveway.

“This isn’t how the mail service works, you know, David.” He bent at the waist to address David through the open window, and felt a little winded to see him. Dimly lit by a valiant, undeniably romantic coalition of the streetlights and the moon, he was beautiful, as always, and…a little unkempt, honestly. Patrick didn’t know whether to take that as gratifying or concerning. 

“Well, the mail service is unacceptably slow.” There was a slight upturn to the right side of David’s mouth as his head gave an indignant shake.

“You wasted a stamp.” Patrick brandished the envelope. 

“Get in the car please, you look insane just standing on the street peeking through car windows in your robe and slippers.” 

“My mom gave me this robe.”

“As a practical joke?”

“She has a matching one. She’s wearing it right now.”

“Mm-hmm, well, I bet she looks lovely. Get in the car, please.”

“I don’t think I ordered an uber?” He grinned.

It all felt so normal. Despite the circumstances, despite the setting, despite the eternity that had passed since they last spoke, despite the pounding drum line and swooping, churning acrobatics occurring in his stomach, mind, and heart, the banter felt as easy and natural as it ever had. 

The moment he got into that car, that was going to have to give way to something serious, and part of him wanted to delay that inevitability, even though it would be the next essential step toward everything being okay. This part just felt too good. And what if the next moment wasn’t leading to okay at all? There in the car.

But David didn’t have a retort to Patricks uber quip. He just gazed seriously, entreatingly back at him. 

So Patrick got in the car. 

And they both stared forward for a while. 

“I’m sorry it’s short, my letter.” David said. “I really always considered myself a much more eloquent epistolarian.”

Patrick breathed a laugh and caressed the envelope, pulled the page of journal paper out again, unfolded it, and regarded it once more. 

“This is the best piece of mail I’ve ever received.”

David smiled down at his hands, then tilted his head up at Patrick. “Better than your subscription to _Sportsball Monthly_ huh?”

“Not even close. And once? I got two free back-issues.”

“Wow.”

There was a silence, and Patrick had to be courageous about this.

“I’m so sorry, David.”

David turned his upper body to face him, ready to meet him in this serious, important place. “I know. I’m sorry I was so dramatic.”

That word unsettled Patrick. He’d heard it used often, by David and others, to diminish and undermine David, which he couldn’t abide. “What? No. David, you weren’t being _dramatic,_ it was one of your more reasonable reactions, actually.”

David rolled his watery eyes. “I’m sorry for being… scared, then.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“I’m sorry I just… sent you away.” David waved his hand like he was dismissing an incompetent servant. 

“It’s okay. I’m glad that it happened.”

“You said something like that in your first letter. It made you sound very wise.”

“If I am, it’s because you made me wise. I mean that.”

They met each other’s gazes for a thoughtful, wistful moment. David smiled softly, and cleared his throat. 

“So, I spoke to Rachel this morning. And then Stevie gave me your letters today. And they were perfect.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Patrick smiled. A job well done. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

“And um, I’d... imagined it... lots of different ways, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“How many of them were scenes from rom-coms except with our faces?”

“…Most of them.”

Patrick laughed, and looked down at his hands, then up at David, but stopped at his lips. 

“So, do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you right now?” Patrick asked, barely flicking his gaze to meet David’s eyes for a moment. 

“Yes, yep, uh-huh, mm-hmm.” David rushed the words out into the rapidly decreasing space between them as Patrick lunged forward, capturing the last ‘mm-hmm’ and turning it into a hum of pleasure. He reached his hand to cup David’s jaw, coarser than usual, and then further, to drag through his tousled hair and pull him closer. David made an instinctive sound of protest before apparently remembering his flyaway curls had been there all day.

“Oh my god, I forgot, I’m a mess!” David gasped, as they pulled away, and he put his hands over his face. 

“Hey.” Patrick laughed and tugged David’s hands down, intertwining their fingers as he did so. “You’re perfect.”

David hummed a laugh and inclined his head, fond and knowing. “For you.”

“Yeah.” Patrick agreed. 

“Who’d have thought?” David leaned back in to press his smile into a kiss, raising their entwined hands like triumph. It was silly, and awkward in the car, and wonderful. 

Patrick sat back in his seat, nodded soundly, and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Yeah, definitely gonna give you a 5-star uber rating for that.”

“Oh my _god.”_

“Hey, um.” Patrick got serious again. “The things you said. You were really sure, that you didn’t want to take a risk again. Do you really—?” He trailed off, unsure what his question was, only knowing it was important to ask it. 

David cleared his throat and nodded, understanding. “There’s a lot of things I’ve realised, and considered, from what Rachel explained, and what you’ve done, and the letters, and my— the way I—” He softly clutched his hand to his chest. “I’ll explain them all properly, but for now, can you just trust me, that this is what I want? That I want you? And whatever that entails, and however than ends?”

The relief Patrick felt hearing those words, and seeing the earnest, vulnerable but adamant look in David’s eyes cleared away tension he didn’t realise he was still holding after reading the letter had renewed him. He felt completely wrung out, exhausted, and absolutely, utterly at peace. He only hoped David felt the same, and he knew he would do everything he could to ensure it. 

“I can do that, David.” He promised.

“Will you come back with me?” David asked, plainly.

“Yes.”

“Will you come back to the store?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“Yes.”

They grinned at each other. 

Then David creased his brow. “It is super late to start a drive back to Schitt’s Creek.”

“Right. Yes. I’m going to assume you don’t want to come inside and meet my parents and stay with us right now?”

“That’s correct, especially if there is a risk of my own robe.”

“There is a motel…somewhere…” Patrick took his phone out of his pocket, but David’s soft voice halted him. 

“I really just want to go home.”

“Okay, David. That’s what caffeine is for, I guess.”

“Can you drive? It’s been kind of a crazy day and I have just realised that I have not eaten, and I might pass out at any moment.”

Patrick’s face fell in concern. “Of course. Wait here?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m just going to grab some things, and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

“Hurry back.” David whined, and Patrick leaned over to kiss him again. 

“I missed you.” He whispered, pressing their foreheads together. 

“I missed you.” David responded, and sniffed, unattractively and utterly lovably. 

“Maybe I don’t need my things.” Patrick murmured, lips touching David’s again. 

David laughed and pushed Patrick lightly away. “Get your things. But run.”

So Patrick ran, and this time he did lose a slipper. 

And in less than five minutes he was in the driver’s seat, bag flung into the back, large thermos of coffee in the console, parents left shocked, thrilled, and placated with promises for more thorough explanations once his boyfriend was fed, and David beside him, cosy beneath Patrick’s robe, tucking into reheated pot roast, looking at him with an expression of joy that could only be described as a traffic hazard, as Patrick did his absolute best to drive them responsibly home, with two stops, for snacks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we did it. I hope you liked the journey and that the destination was worth it. 
> 
> Dubious thanks to the marvellous DelphinaBoswell- hero, friend, tormentor, for the prompt, which she technically only asked for a paragraph of, and not the longest thing I've ever written. And to everyone who endured my whining, and encouraged this bumbling, unplanned thing along with your enthusiasm. It has been a ride and I've learned a lot of things. 
> 
> This has been my most popular work ever, and while I have your eyes, it would delight me greatly (and, I think, delight you, too) if those of you who have not read Path to Paradise, Road to Ruin, my Orpheus and Eurydice au epic poem, would give it a look. It is much more accessible than it sounds! I'm very proud of it and it is tragically (ironically) under-read, in comparison to the rest of my oeuvre. Go on then: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20242900
> 
> All gratitude and glory to the muses, as ever.
> 
> I'm nilolay on tumblr if you wanna watch me occasionally reblog something on there.
> 
> But uh just kiddin' on the 10/10 chapters, there's gonna be a tiny epilogue in a hot sec. And some Bonus Material.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little aftermath, and some poetic bonus material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bonus material is something I wrote in my notes during my month-long unintentional hiatus from this fic. I was making myself think about what I wanted to say with David's arc, and it formed itself poetically. I thought some of you might enjoy it, so I've popped it in here. It's also in limerick form but has only a whisper of jokeyness, which I've decided is allowed. Also it may or may not rhyme if you read it in an accent other than Australian, sorry.

They woke the next day in the mid-afternoon, wrapped around each other in Stevie’s bed. (She’d performed her final act of their salvation by offering her apartment while she spent the night at— actually, she didn’t say. David would have to wheedle that out of her at a later date.)

David insisted they still go to work, despite it being so close to closing time, because he needed the wrong of that aspect of their separation righted as soon as possible.

Patrick discovered the colourful new book-keeping situation and learned that for the sake of not wasting resources, he should really continue using Alexis’s coloured pens, which he agreed to, and took as penance.

They served some customers— some beaming at the sight of the two of them, some blandly oblivious— and then they closed up. And when they were finished, they looked at each other in wordless contentment, until David broke into a strange smile, and told Patrick he had a present for him. And Patrick smiled, confused and slightly suspicious, and asked why. And David informed him it was a gift for their One Day Anniversary, obviously, because that was something to celebrate. And Patrick could only agree.

And then David sat Patrick down on a chair, and hit play on their song, and poured his heart out silently, bodily, joyously, awkwardly, triumphantly. And Patrick laughed, and shook his head in adoring disbelief, and pumped his fists, and they danced.

And as the music died down, they swayed in each other’s arms, and simultaneously— David panting, and Patrick beaming— they told each other “I love you” for the first time for this go-round. And neither of them had dared dream about it going quite like that.

_ Fin. _

* * *

** BONUS MATERIAL! **

* * *

_A heart that’s fuelled by hope cannot be halted_

_The course it charges forth cannot be altered_

_No harm will be its failing,_

_It shall not succumb to ailing,_

_’Til to glory’s goal it has, like lightning, bolted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really didn't want to deprive them of the lip-sync in this universe. It's my favourite thing.
> 
> Yes, 'penance' is a pun. 
> 
> Yes, 'lightning, bolted' is a reference to David's Grad Night sweater. 
> 
> Okay now we're really done. 
> 
> Ciao. <3
> 
> (go read my epic poem au)


End file.
